


The Darkest Blue

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, or so it would seem
Genre: Astral Projection, Strange Meetings, feat. willy who belongs to control_room, kim does that i guess, pls comment i guess thats all id like to say, what the hell should i write here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 06:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: Kim has himself a walk down the nth dimension and makes acquaintances with a peculiar being.





	The Darkest Blue

Floating around in a pitch black dark, seemingly empty space with no idea where in the hell he was surprisingly happened not to be a thing Kim wasn’t accostumed to.

 

Sure, he would have loved for his subconcious to rise up and warn him or give him hints that his soul was thinking of momentarily detaching itself from his body and take a casual stroll down the fifteenth realm, just so he could prepare himself a little, perhaps even have a little knowledge on his somewhat exact location among the layers and layers of realities that his being enjoyed carelessly ragdolling around; but even though that appeared not to be possible, he was kind of relieved he hadn’t ended up by the [slide-whistling cherub](https://bubblebaath.tumblr.com/post/181727967250) again.

 

Now  _that_  had been a weird experience.

 

He was taken out of his thoughts by a sudden soft sound, as if his body had been gently absorbed by something he’d bumped into. He raised his eyes curiously and met a long, dirty white snout.

 

“Hello, my dear.” said the strange head with a weirdly sounding but kind voice, its jaw barely moving.

“Hello.” Kim replied. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do. Should he have asked something? Whatever he was laying on felt more ethereal than air, yet as thick as a wool mattress. It had a soft texture in spite of seeming to be a slimy liquid.

“This is quite the premature meeting, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Those who come to me are not in their best conditions, my dear.”

 

Silence seeped into the nothingness around them. Taking a better look at his sorroundings, Kim noticed other figures floating. They were quiet, their colors appearing slightly less vibrant than they should have been. Some swam across the black canvas, others were tended by a colossal skeletal hand; some more curled against the same murky hill he was on.

Now that he was paying more attention, it wasn’t as black as the rest of the space around him: it was a very dark tone of blue. It reminded him of a starless new moon night seen from a godforsaken praire.

Lighter shades glowed gently from below.

 

“Are you Death?”

 

He felt like a small child looking up to a statue asking that.

 

“A Spirit of it, my dear.”

 

“So I died?”

 

“Oh, no. You are very alive.”

 

A bare falanx gently caressed his hair. It had a strange consistency, not like bone, nor flesh, nor anything he could think of.

 

“Please remain as such for as long as you can.”

 

“I’ll try.”

 

Every now and then a new figure appeared.

Some landed safely into the blue mass without a clue, as oblivious and filled with wonder as newborn infants looking at all their open eyes can meet; but there were those who couldn’t stop their crying, and so the hands would reach them and give them shelter in their palms, bringing them close to the snout where they could be comforted by gentle whispers.

Children swung with happy cries from his twisted horns and launched themselves into the empty abiss around them, free from worry, only to return playing a second later.

 

A young adult materialized sobbing as hard as they could while covering their face in their hands. A glitching figure was attached to their back, snickering and talking nonstop, mad with delight for the stress of its victim.

 

The Spirit cradled the newcomer in its bony hands, pushing away the parasite: “Hush, now. Leave them be, your work is done.”

 

 _“Didn’t I do a good job?”_  the glitching shape cackled maliciously.

 

“You know I don’t find pleasure in the accomplishment of your being. Now go away, ill-intentioned child, you’ve done enough. Don’t plague these poor souls a second more.”

 

The specter tilted his head to an unnatural angle, as if his neck had been broken in several parts, his face-splitting grin faded in favor of a somewhat annoyed grimace. He was probably about to give the colossal being a piece of his mind, but his eyes fell (not litterally, fortunately, although that didn’t sound like something that couldn’t have happened) on the vibrant soul laying on the Spirit’s blue body.

 

He and Kim stared at each other for a while, each trying to recollect who the other looked like in order to recognize him.

 

“Willy?” the still living one asked, squinting a little. Sure, the janitor didn’t sound like that nor had that sort of seizure inducing aspect, but it did look like him-

 

 _“OH!”_  the glitching man finally realized, _“OH! YOU’RE THE ANGEL DUMBASS!”_

 

Before the other had any chance to reply, he laughed hard and loud in his face, his whole body contorting with every single mad chuckle until he zapped out of the realm.

A giant thumb scratched the top of Kim’s head understandingly.

 

“He’s quite terrible, my dear.”

 

“I can imagine.”

 

He looked up to the snout, where an elderly woman was sliding down with the glee of a girl on her twelth birthday.

 

“Should I go?” he asked. The body on which he rested was cool, yet warm.

 

“If you wish to, of course you can.” the giant skull shook slightly to nuzzle a couple who was just about to begin to weep in the place that should have been the crook of its neck.

 

Kim tried pushing himself off of the dark mass with his feet. He bounced into the pitch black emptiness the same way astronauts do on the moon. The figures floating around in it had small specs of light in them, he noticed absentmindedly. As if the last rays of sun had managed to escape the dark vortex’s slipstream.

 

“Please take care of Eska.” the gentle but undescribable voice pleaded to him, “And tell him he’ll always be a beloved boy to me.”

 

“Will do.” he answered before asking himself how could it know Eska.

 

 

“Thank you, my dear.”

 

 

Kim blinked to meet the wooden ceiling, and his head hurt. It was bandaged.

 

He moved carefully, groaning a little, still in a sort of trance.

“Welcome back.” a pained murmur greeted him. Willy had his head in his hands and the grouchiest face the human kind was capable of making: “How’re you doing? The plank hit you square in the face.”

“Uh.” the toy-maker said, not registering any dolor, “Guess I feel fine now. How ‘bout you?”

“Splitting headache.” was the dry answer.

 

A garbled cackling caught Kim’s attention: on the floor, rolling like a dog high on something and punching the floor, the janitor’s glitching doppleganger howled in laughter with a horrible sound. No surprise Willy’s brain hurt so much.

He furrowed his brows: “Stop that, he’s in pain.”

 

And the Mirror image did stop - for a second. Then he yelled more of his loud cacophonic giggling. Finally, he resumed screaming between cackles:  _“Holy fuck, he can see me! The angel dumbass can see me! Oh, shit, he’s probably still hazy from astral projecting!”_

 

Willy turned to him, a little confused: “You can see that piece of shit?”

“Yes. Hey, I said stop that!”

“Hold on, hold on, I need to check. How many fingers is he holding up?”

“He’s flipping me off.”

“Oh goddamnit.” the janitor rubbed his temples, “You  _can_ see him.”

“Not for long, probably, but yes.” the other frowned, “Why does he call me the angel dumbass?”

“Remember when [I got you the lavander oil and you said I was an angel?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383458)”

“I still stand by that.”

Mirror howled louder, causing Willy to flinch.

“Well, yeah, the ‘wings’ you said I had? It was this guy. This son of a bitch. He pushed the vase off and broke it. And that’s why you’re the angel dumbass. Oh, sweet God, stop laughing! My head is gonna blow up!”

 

A pair of very skinny hands began drawing soft patterns on the side of the janitor’s head. He let out a groan that doubled as a ‘thank you’, and Eska nuzzled against his curls gently before turning to Kim.

“Head?” he asked, motioning with elbow at the bandages.

“Oh, it’s fine I think. Thank you.” the toy maker replied. A sudden thought occured to him: “Eska, do you know any… Uh… How do I say this- Do you know a strange sort of- uh, fellow? With a, uhm… Skull? With horns like a ram? And a body that’s like, dark blue… Slimy… Fabric?”

He must have sounded like a stoner.

“Yes.” the factotum replied as naturally as if that description matched every Tom, Dick, or Harry you could meet at the bar.

“It told me to tell you it loves you very much.”

 

Eska’s eyes curved in the way a smile makes them turn into half moons.


End file.
